


laughter

by Waywarder



Series: Simply Having an Ineffable Christmastime [15]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale is a Drunk Sorority Girl Sometimes, Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), holiday fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2019-12-15
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:55:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21806227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Waywarder/pseuds/Waywarder
Summary: I don't even have a good "In which..." for this one, Team. Just some very silly, drunk holiday fluff!Part of Drawlight's 31 Days of Ineffables collection!
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Simply Having an Ineffable Christmastime [15]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1558789
Comments: 7
Kudos: 60





	laughter

“It is a fair, even-handed, noble adjustment of things, that while there is infection in disease and sorrow, there is nothing in the world so irresistibly contagious as laughter and good humour.”  
_Charles Dickens_

It was really Aziraphale who started it. 

They stayed at the bar for a good while, long after the crepes had been thoroughly devoured. They ordered more drinks, they shouted over the din to hear one another, and, after a while, they sat in a comfortable silence, trading fond glances and smiles. Finally: 

“Well, shall we, then?” Crowley clapped his hands on the bar. 

But the demon was met with silence. Aziraphale just stared at his long-drained drink. He looked almost confused at first, trying hard to work something out. Crowley cocked his head to the side, now also trying to solve the mystery of what the fuck Aziraphale was doing. 

Aziraphale plucked the tiny paper umbrella from his drink. He held it up to his face, squinting a little. 

“Aziraphale?”

Not for the first time that night, Aziraphale held up a hand in Crowley’s face, evidently not finished with his thorough examination of the paper umbrella. He finally turned to Crowley, and thrust the umbrella in the demon’s face, almost accusingly. Crowley’s eyebrows went up in anticipation. He locked eyes with Aziraphale. The angel looked frightfully earnest.

Aziraphale leaned forward, now almost conspiratorially, still clutching the tiny umbrella. He swayed a little in his spot as he moved, and Crowley caught him by the shoulders. 

Look, it wasn’t the only tiny paper umbrella on the bar, do you dig?

Aziraphale let out a little huff of breath, eyebrows knitted together in growing frustration. He looked deeply into Crowley’s eyes.

“Crowley.”

“Yes, Aziraphale?”

“What is this for?” The angel whispered.

“Wh-what?” Crowley’s lips parted in confusion.

“ _What is this for?!_ ” Aziraphale shook the tiny umbrella for emphasis.

Crowley blinked rapidly. He leaned back in his seat, his hands still planted on Aziraphale’s shoulders, and really took in the current portrait of the angel he loved. Aziraphale: sitting at a trendy Christmas pop-up tiki bar in New York City, the only creature for miles and miles in a tartan bowtie, the smartest being Crowley had ever encountered, the love of his bleeding life… drunk on rum and utterly, sincerely perplexed by a paper umbrella. 

Fuck, he was a goner.

The first little snicker escaped Crowley’s lips, and that was it. He threw his head back and absolutely cackled. It was the best kind of funny thing; one that he couldn’t have explained at a later date if he tried, but that, in that wonderful moment, seized his whole self with utter joy and happiness. He laughed because he loved Aziraphale so much, loved him when he was terribly clever and composed, loved him when he was an absolute mess who couldn’t figure out a garnish. 

“I’m serious!” Aziraphale pouted, now holding the little umbrella against his heart. 

“I know you are. That’s the best part,” Crowley managed to gasp. He was practically crying now. 

Aziraphale’s offense quickly melted, and he started to smile a little too. 

“I’m being ridiculous,” he conceded. “I know what this is for.”

And he leaned forward and held the little umbrella up above Crowley’s head. Which is what made Aziraphale start to laugh, which only made Crowley laugh harder. They flung their arms around one another, nearly toppling out of their bar stools, which made them laugh harder still. They laughed until they cried, because not all cliches are strictly bad, I think. 

And when their laughter finally subsided, Crowley ran his fingers up and down Aziraphale’s back, and murmured into his ear:

“What d’you think, angel? Ready to go home?”

And Aziraphale was. He nodded into Crowley’s shoulder, and held the demon even tighter. 

Because sometimes loving someone is as silly and small as totally losing it in a bar over a tiny paper umbrella, and sometimes loving someone is as significant and vast as _home._

**Author's Note:**

> I love these idiots so much. Thank you for reading! I'm wiserandwaywarder on Tumblr, if you'd like to keep yelling about Aziraphale/Crowley feelings over there.


End file.
